Strip
by TheChicaChic
Summary: "It's your last night as a single woman, live a little." Turning her friend into the dimly lit pub, Jo stops her from moving forward. "You don't think Harry is sitting alone in his room watching Telly do you?"


AN: This idea came about listening to the Elvis Duran show talk about a 50 year old male stripper who showed up for a bachelorette party and grew even more after talking with the ladies over at 3 Words, 8 Letters on Facebook. It took a bit of wine and my being tipsy to even write this so … it probably makes no sense and doesn't flow. But oh well! It's silly and fun.

Written for rosetintedblindspot who loves PF as much as I do...and encourages me to write things like this. -)

Thanks for NatesDate for the idea of the masks - and for encouraging the flowing of the wine.

* * *

"Just a few steps more."

The blue wool of her winter scarf rubs at the tender skin of her eyelids, preventing her from opening her eyes and peering through the woven openings. Slowly she shuffles along the wooden floor, fear of falling preventing her from moving too quickly. She can feel Jo gripping the tops of her arms tightly, shuffling along with her as she leads Ruth through the maze of halls. The inn isn't overly large but between the lack of sight and little knowledge of the halls, it's a slow process.

"Jo, really." she mumbles, hand sliding along the stone wall for support.

"It's your last night as a single woman, live a little." Turning her friend into the dimly lit pub, Jo stops her from moving forward. "You don't think Harry is sitting alone in his room watching Telly do you?"

"Yes. Actually I do." Fingers brushing the edge of the scarf, she almost has it lifted before her hand is smacked away. "Ouch."

"No peeking." Turning Ruth to the left, Jo starts moving them forward again. "And he is not. He's out at a strip club with the rest of the men; well aside from Malcolm who is watching Telly in his room; ogling the breasts of far too skinny women." As they reach the tables pushed along the back wall, she carefully helps her friend sit in a straight-backed pub chair, decorated with white streamers. "So you should do the same."

"Because looking at women's breasts is my idea of a fun night." Ruth snorts, her comment rich with sarcasm as inside she knows Jo is right. Harry probably is out drinking with various male guests, smoking cigars as he stares at the perky breasts of much younger women. Perhaps touching them with his fingers and mouth as a lithe dancer straddles his lap, regretting that he's yet again tying himself to a single woman. And one nowhere near as beautiful as the last.

"Looking, not touching." Jo whispers in Ruth's ear, moving to undo the makeshift blindfold and proving that she knows her older friend well.

"Oh Jo, you don't know that." Eyes blinking, she looks around the sparsely filled room, spotting a few women from the office who'd made the journey to Kent and a few of her friends from Uni at the other little tables.

"Please, Harry hasn't looked at another woman in all the time I've been with 5, including last years holiday party when that blonde tart from accounting showed up wearing only her red-lace knickers and matching babydoll."

"He looked." Ruth whispers, watching as her friend settles in the chair next to her. "I found the exact outfit printed from the La Perla website the next morning."

"Maybe he was looking for you?"

"He bought me a pair of cat pyjamas from M&S, which I got a week later for Christmas. Trust me, he wasn't looking at it for me."

Jo isn't sure what to say. She knows for a fact her boss is madly in love with her friend, and would assume that means he's been nothing but faithful to her. Just the lingering glances across the Grid are enough to support this thought. But she'd be lying if she didn't admit to having heard the stories of the man he was before.

Of the affairs with several different women. And the numerous times he had been caught in the act by upper management, which included the legendary time he'd been caught with three of the office staff women on the roof of 140 Gower Street and has since become referred to as the Ménage à quatre. That had been whispered about during her training along with a warning to avoid relationships with the man at all costs.

Before she can respond, music begins to fill the room and their attention is pulled to the shadowed front. A smile filling her face, Jo reaches out to rest her hand on Ruth's arm. "Just enjoy the show."

"Not likely."

Jo laughs but doesn't look at her friend. Instead, she's focused on the three men standing at the front of the room. Or at least she hopes they're men. It's difficult to tell with the Volto masks and hooded capes they're wearing. As the words to Madonna's Human Nature begin to fill to the room, the centre man steps forward, gloved hands undoing the velvet tie at the throat.

As he steps to the centre, the cape falls from his shoulders to reveal a period costume of purple, black and white jester. His legs, clad in white stockings and purple breeches, show muscular calves, loosening around the thighs and waist to hang loose. A white linen shirt can be seen under a purple and black jacket, a lace cravat ruffled at the neck.

You wouldn't let me say the words I longed to say. You didn't want to see life through my eyes. (Express yourself, don't repress yourself)

Hips moving slowly, the man turns his back to the women, revealing broad shoulders under purple silk, his hair covered under the black hood still. Spinning, he turns again to face the women, hazel eyes slowly moving across the various faces watching as his hands slide down his chest. Fingers brushing across buttons, he slowly undoes them before he oh so slowly drops the jacket on top of the cape.

Stepping forward he toes off one then two slightly heeled shoes, his white stocking feet large on the old wood. Behind him, the other two sway in time to the music, both having also dropped their capes and dress jackets, but much more hesitantly.

The lead man crosses to stand a metre from the women, his eyes sparkling as he winks then turns, his hips jutting out as he shakes his derriere in time with the music. The cotton of the breeches pulled taut against well sculpted cheeks.

You punished me for telling you my fantasies. I'm breakin' all the rules I didn't make. (Express yourself, don't repress yourself)

Stocking covered feet sliding, the man spins, his leather covered hands sliding along his muscular thighs, along the sides of his pelvis, and across his stomach. Tips brushing along pectorals, they stop as they reach lace. Slowly, the cravat comes undone and he pulls it from around his neck, the long length hanging in his hands.

Wicked smile on his face, he crosses the distance to the woman, stopping in front of the last woman on the far left. Looping the lace around her neck, he slowly slides it back and forth, his pelvis jutting forward as he moves to the music.

The woman grins, hand reaching out to the ties holding the breeches closed. Tongue between her lips, she slowly unties them. As she moves to slide her hand inside the material, he reaches down, smacking her hand away. Pouting up at him, she has to laugh as he wags his finger no in front of her face and spins, wiggling his butt in her face before she smacks him. Jumping, he spins to look at her, eyes going slightly wide as she reaches to pull him to her.

He's saved by the cheer of the other women as the other two men begin dancing, both dropping their jackets to the ground. Sliding back, he turns again, shaking his backside towards the women as he loops the lace around his neck. He's still shaking his hips as his hands go to his waist, and as he finishes untying the breeches, he pushes them down, bending over to lower them to his ankles, revealing tight, purple briefs.

The women cheer and whistle, their eyes momentarily drawn to the lightly tanned skin of hairless thighs and knee high stockings. He turns slowly, eyes seeking out the women he's really doing this for and grins, hips pushing his bulge forward as he stands there in knee highs, tight purple briefs, and a loose white shirt.

Throughout the dance, Ruth has been watching, the feeling that she knew the man dancing and stripping nagging her. It's only as he drops his briefs and meets her eyes that she realizes she does.

It's Harry.

"Oh my God." It's out of her mouth before she can stop it, her eyes going wide as he winks again, his gloved hand sliding along his cotton covered penis.

"I know, he's got a package, doesn't he?"

"Jo..." she can't get another word out as everyones attention is drawn back to the two other men, now sword fighting as they reveal more skin.

Eyes still on Harry, Ruth watches as he moves forward until his knees bump hers. At this point in time, she's the only woman focused on the man in front of her and she can't keep her hand from reaching up, brushing along the surprisingly soft skin of his left thigh. Unlike before, he does not brush her fingers away, instead 'mming' at the feeling of her skin on his.

Suddenly they're alone as the women surrounding them jump to their feet, rushing to join the other two men who have beckoned them over. Wrapping the cravat around her neck, Harry softly pulls Ruth to her feet, his lips brushing her cheek.

"Ha..." he stops her from speaking, his finger going over her lips as he shakes his head no. "But..."

She's stopped again as he pushes his pelvis into hers. Gasping at the contact, she's shocked when he steps away, his hand sliding down her body, before crossing the room to gather his clothes. The other women are too busy dancing and touching the other men to notice as Harry wraps an arm around Ruth's waist, leading her from the room.

They're silent as he leads her through the inn, pleased for the first time that he's booked the entire place and not a soul is present as he leads his fiancee up the narrow staircase. At the top, he turns to the left; away from his room; and walks down the hall. Stopping outside a door, he pauses, turning to Ruth, his eyes glowing behind his mask.

"Key."

It's the first word he's spoken all night as she fumbles in her bag for the single key on a long string. Pulling it out, she shakingly tries to put it in the lock, nervous for reasons beyond her understanding. This is Harry, and yet it feels illicit.

Hand lying over hers, he helps guide the thin metal into the hole, twisting it to the right as it makes contact. Hearing the lock click, he reaches down, turning the knob and opening the door. Resting his hand in the small of her back, he guides her into the dark room, the only light coming from the hall and through the lace curtains over the window. As they cross the threshold, he closes the door, dropping the armful of clothes on the floor before grabbing Ruth and spinning her round.

Back against the door, she's pressed between the solid wood and Harry's bulk, the bare skin of his thigh pushing between her legs to run along her stocking-covered legs. He pushes into her, the back of his hand brushing along the side of her face. He's still wearing the mask the first time he kisses her, his lips softly brushing hers. Pulling back, his eyes bore into hers in the darkened room.

"Mine." It's the second word he's said tonight.

Before she has a chance to process it, he's pushing the mask from his face, and it falls to the floor with a clatter. Hand sliding along her neck, he grips it lightly, tilting her head back as he leans down, fusing his lips on hers.

Tongue brushing along the closed seam of her mouth, he lifts his knee, pushing it between her legs. As she gasps, he thrusts his tongue against hers, the fingers of his hand squeezing the back of her neck. Hands lifting, she wraps them around his back, pulling him closer as they continue to kiss.

A moment later he's stepping back, his hand still gripping her neck as he stares down into her eyes.

Breath panting, Ruth steps away from the door, her hands reaching to the hem of his shirt. Grasping it, she pulls it up, lifting it over his head as he releases his hold on her. As it flutters to the ground, she leans forward, her hands sliding around his waist as she licks the puckered flesh of his nipple. Lips wrapping around it, she flutters her tongue against his flesh, teeth nipping as he moans softly.

Pressing soft kisses across his chest, she trails a path to his other nipple, sucking it between her teeth. Touching him, she lets her hands glide along his skin, fingers brushing his waist as she grasps the top of his briefs. Fingers looping in elastic, she pushes them down, stepping back as his partial erection is freed.

Eyes on his, Ruth drops to her knees as she wraps a hand around the base of his shaft. Slowly, she licks her lips and before he can say a word, she leans forward, the tip of her tongue brushing the tender skin of his scrotum. Sighing, she wraps her lips around tender skin, her head turned to the side as she slowly sucks and licks her way along a throbbing vein. Reaching the tip, she pulls back, the tip of her tongue just sliding against the head before she wraps her lips around the side and slowly moves down the other side.

Fingers squeezing his balls, she kisses her way back to the head, her lips wrapping around the tip as she finally takes him in her mouth. He groans at the moist heat of her mouth surrounding him and fights the urge to thrust forward. Hands lifting to tangle in her hair, he holds her in place, unable to stop from thrusting further into her mouth. Suddenly he pulls on her hair hard and pushes his hips back. As he slides from her mouth, he's panting, fighting the urge to come as she stares at him in disappointment.

He breathes through his nose, eyes closed as he thinks of ice water and Margaret Thatcher. Getting control of himself, he grasps her upper arms and pulls her to her feet. Hands sliding down her body, he rips open the material of her blouse, buttons dropping to the floor as he pushes her back against the hardwood of the door. Her bra quickly follows.

"Omf." The air leaves her lungs as Harry pushes against her, his fingers sliding around her waist to unhook the clasp holding it up. Within seconds, he has her skirt, stockings, and knickers on the floor, his hand pushing against her wet center.

In the dark room, he strokes her firmly, his fingers dipping into her as she moans softly, her head leaning back against the door. She's grasping the muscles of his arms as her knees quiver, gasping as she feels herself getting so close to climaxing. The muscles in her stomach are clenching when he pulls his hand away.

It takes a moment; as she waits to fall over that ledge; for her to realize he's stopped touching her. But before she can open her eyes, he's lifting her leg and pushing into her, his mouth sucking on her neck. She cries out, the nails of her fingers digging into his shoulders as he pulls away, the friction against her clitorus causing her climax to rip through her.

He waits, eyes open and watching her as she slowly comes back down. It's when her eyes flutter open that he pushes his erection back into her warm heat. She sighs, her legs lifting to wrap around his waist as her hands hold his shoulders tightly. It hadn't been his plan to fuck her the night before their wedding, but sometime between his finding out Jo had hired strippers and bringing her up to this room, his quest had changed.

Now it's all he can do to brace himself against the solid oak of the door as he pounds into her, the sounds of their pants and flesh smacking against flesh filling the silence of the upstairs, as he presses her between his body and the door. She whimpers, her back arching as she suddenly climaxes, the clenching of her inner muscles pulling him right behind her.

Legs giving out, he has enough bearings to slide his arms behind her as they sink to the floor, him still twitching inside her as they stick together. Slick with sweat, he rolls them into the pile of discarded clothing, her eyes fluttering open as his penis slides free.

"God." she whispers, her fingers tangling in the wet curls on his neck.

"Love you too." he mutters, eyes drifting closed as he pulls her close.


End file.
